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Merope looked for a moment as if she wanted to protest, but before she could, she suddenly cried out and doubled over, clutching her abdomen. Fluid suddenly pooled between her legs.
"Merope!" Severus exclaimed, dashing over to hold her. Hermione was quickly on her other side. Tom was stunned for a moment, but he recovered and joined them.
"It’s... time," Merope gasped. "It’s too early—just seven months—"
"Twins," Severus said, supporting her under her knees as he picked her up to carry in his arms. "They are usually born early. We are all talented witches and wizards, my dear. It will be fine."
Tom stepped ahead of them and opened the door. At the end of the corridor was Peter Pettigrew himself. He looked out of breath.
"Pettigrew. My mother is in labor," Tom said sharply. "If you have a message, it can wait."
"No, your lordship," Pettigrew said, wringing his asymmetrically fingered hands. "I was just making the rounds. Can I assist in any way?"
"No," Severus said brusquely as he swept by the small, pudgy man. With Tom and Hermione following behind, he carried her upstairs and into their bedchamber. He hesitated for a moment but allowed Tom and Hermione in the room.
Severus carried Merope to the grand bed and set her down. "There," he soothed. "Are you comfortable?"
"What? Of course I’m not comfortable!" she exclaimed indignantly.
Hermione suppressed a chuckle as Severus winced. Tom seemed smugly pleased that his mother had scolded his stepfather, even in the context of birthing pains.
Merope was not at all helpless, despite the pain that she was in. She quickly divested herself of her costly robes and allowed Severus to help her into a loose, simpler one that opened down the front. She did not think for one second about shielding her son and daughter-in-law from the proceedings. They were not children. They were married now, and Hermione was not taking the potion to prevent pregnancy. In fact, she was taking the fertility potion. She would surely experience this herself within the year. Merope wondered for a second about the fact that Hermione herself was apparently not with child, but she could not think for too long about that. Her own pains subsumed her thoughts.
Tom and Hermione sat down in two of the chairs in the room as Severus sent another one flying through the air to land next to her bedside. He sat in it and took his wife’s hand, wincing as she clenched it tightly. She knew what to do better than he did; she had done this once before, whereas he had learned about it only from books.
Her experience did not mean that she did not have worries. "Severus," Merope said urgently, "you have all your potions, don’t you? They are going to be so small. They will need help—and I remember what happened to me when Tom was born—"
The sudden onset of labor had meant that, in fact, Severus did not have the necessary potions with him, and the laboratory in the castle was locked, so he could not summon them with magic. He gave a quick, pointed look at Tom and Hermione as he reached into his belt purse and tossed a key to them.
Tom was somewhat annoyed at being treated like a house-elf, but Hermione was eager to leave the room. Watching Merope strain in pain as she attempted to push a baby—two babies—out of her body was not a pleasant thing, and it brought up several kinds of personal concerns in Hermione, who had never had a sibling and therefore had not had the chance to see her own mother experience this. It was not something that she looked forward to herself—but at the same time, it was part of her duties as a noblewoman, if at all possible... though was it possible? That was the other personal concern. She had not conceived on Beltane, but she had still been taking the infertility potion. However, she also had not conceived—yet—since she was married and taking the fertility draught.
She and Tom reached the potions laboratory and unlocked the door. As Hermione scoured the shelves and cabinets for potions that Severus might want to have, she was glad that she had a task to distract her from her own unpleasant thoughts.
Tom carried two bottles. He took one from Hermione, allowing her to have a free hand to lock the door behind them, and together they returned to Merope’s bedchamber.
Her labor continued into the late afternoon. In winter, it would have been night, but this was a long, lazy summer day, and darkness came very late. At last, the first baby arrived, with a masterful push from its mother. Severus drew his breath. This baby was tiny indeed, small and scrawny. Hermione almost gasped at its size.
"It’s a girl," he announced, picking his daughter up effortlessly. He quickly gave the child a dose from one of the bottles. Her breathing eased. Severus then cast a warming charm over the tiny form.
Merope was struggling again, her eyes rolled back in evident fear, her pushes fewer and weaker. The second twin was more resistant. Severus glanced at his daughter, who seemed—for the moment—to be stable, and then at Merope. "I’m going to help this one along," he said to her in a low voice. He drew his wand and cast a spell on her abdomen that appeared as a broad orange glow.
Within a few minutes, she was pushing once again. The younger twin then emerged into Severus’s waiting hands.
"This one is a boy," he said, giving the equally tiny baby the same treatment of potions and heating charm. He handed the sister and brother to Merope, who, now that she had finished labor, was relieved and ready.
Her face changed when she saw how small they were and how lightweight once they were in her arms. She held them very close, pulling bedcovers over all but their heads to provide as much warmth as she could. "My little ones," she murmured. "Very little ones." She glanced at Severus. "Thank you. I don’t know if I would have gotten through that without you."
He managed a smile of acknowledgment for her as she began to nurse them.
"You can look if you want to," Severus said, finally remembering that Tom and Hermione were still there. They got up from their chairs and walked across the room to the bed.
Hermione watched carefully as Tom observed his sister and brother. His face was difficult to read. Like everyone else, he seemed alarmed for the small size of the babies. His brow was creased in contemplation, too, though—as if he were concerned as well about the blood-politics angle. With Armand Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange still in power, Hermione supposed that made sense, as unfortunate as it was that he might be thinking of such a thing at all at this time.
However, he was also manifestly interested in them. He drew closer to his mother and gazed upon them.
"What kind of witch and wizard will you be?" he murmured, touching their bare heads.
"Parselmouths, for one," Merope replied wryly.
Tom quirked a brow at her.
"It runs true," she said. "Whatever their other talents are, of that one I have no doubt." She smiled. "Their names are Eileen and Padrig Snape. These are names from their father’s family," she added in explanation to Tom and Hermione as Snape’s face lit up in delight.
Tom gazed across the room. A banner of House Riddle hung on the wall, the heraldic device that Merope herself had designed four years ago woven into it. A wreath of elder leaves encircled a green serpent with three heads.
"They have your blood too," he said quietly, "and the serpent is now as it is meant to be. It has its three heads."
She gazed at the banner and nodded. "We must write to Father Alphard Black soon to have them christened properly. For now, though, it’s most important to keep them... healthy."
Tom realized what she had almost said. His face contracted in pain at the thought of the unspoken word. Hermione, who had witnessed that exchange, also realized it. She squeezed his hand in pleasure and approval.
Little Eileen and Padrig held on. Although their father had to administer health potions and strength restoratives several times a day to them, and the little ones themselves had to be kept warm to the point of discomfort for the adults, to Merope—and Severus, who rarely left her side during this crucial time—it was worth it. All of it. The sweltering heat that their spells produced in the nursery room, already helped along by the warmth of summer; the sweat and stickiness that Merope and Severus dealt with as a result of it; the multiple awakenings at night to nurse the twins—it was worth it.
Merope considered these twins an unlooked-for blessing. It was exceedingly unlikely that she would ever give birth again, but she had not expected to hold a baby of her own in her arms again after Tom had grown too old for that years ago. When she had conceived last November, she had not dared to hope that the pregnancy would actually succeed. For every day of those first few months, she had risen from her bed in dread that she would not be an expectant mother anymore by the next day’s light. Finally, after she had quickened, she had allowed herself to hope. She still had not considered it a near-certainty, but she had allowed herself to consider the possibility.
They were magical. They were a witch and a wizard; of that she was already certain. She had felt their magic during each one’s birth, which was logical; it would be a traumatic and shocking event to the babies, one that they had no way of comprehending, and lashing out with their nascent magic was an instinctive thing for them to do. Tom had done it as well when he was born. These twins had magic, but to their parents, they were magical in a metaphorical sense as well.
Severus was also scarcely able to believe that he was a father—was definitely a father, and could be a father to these little ones. He thought long and often about what he wanted to teach them when they became old enough to learn. Potions, of course—that would be part of the legacy he would give them—but he was also determined that they would learn wisdom in general. More wisdom than I had as a young man, he thought as he cradled them the day after they were born.
Tom and Hermione had their own thoughts about the births. Being somewhat more removed from the experience than the babies’ parents, they thought more about their own, worldly, political worries.
"Before our wedding, Malfoy did not know that your mother was with child," Hermione said in a low voice one night in bed to Tom. "Now, not even a month later, she has twins."
Tom gazed ahead into the darkness. "He doesn’t know that. No one does except the four of us—and Father Black, I suppose, but he won’t tell. He is no friend of Malfoy."
"I’m worried about it too," Tom confessed. "My mother is very vulnerable now. I’m worried for her, and these twins. And Snape," he added. "Though he is less vulnerable."
Hermione rose up and resettled herself on Tom’s chest. He cradled her head.
"We have to do more to protect them," she said. "Now that she is a nursing mother of two babies that were born very early, that is obviously her first duty, and it’s not fair to expect Severus to do everything. We are masters of magic. We have to do more."
Tom considered that. "I agree."
The family dining room the next morning was a nexus of activity long after breakfast was over. Severus and Merope were talking in low voices to each other, each of them holding a small baby. Tom was staring over a map that he had laid out across his place setting. Hermione leaned to the left to look at it.
"I think the best thing to do would be to put it into a magical sleep and transport it in some sort of covered wagon to the western coast," Tom mused, "and then load it into a ship and take it south that way. Parselhall is not that far inland, not nearly as far as Malfoy Manor; we could use the wagon to finish the trip. We would have to hire a ship to ourselves, of course...."
Merope looked up from her conversation. "What about the fact that Hogwarts is closed, and apparently, according to Lord Black, is not receiving guests?"
Tom’s gaze hardened. "Dumbledore wanted the basilisk out of the school. This is a viable plan for getting it out. He didn’t receive a visitor; that’s different to receiving an owl carrying a letter about something he had already requested himself." He glowered. "And he has no right to keep our magical property, in any case."
Hermione gazed down at the map. "And then... we take Castle l’Etrange."
"Yes," Tom said. "That’s become a bit more complicated. Not the logistics of taking it—they’re the same as they always were—but what to do with it once we have taken it, now that Lady Bellatrix and her daughter are somewhere else."
"Likely with the Malfoys of Godric’s Hollow," Hermione murmured. She looked up at him. "I wonder if they could become allies of a sort."
"I wouldn’t count on it."
"We have the Black family alliance. If two of the Black sisters are living there, that must count for something."
Tom considered that. "That is true," he said, "and it is basically acknowledged now, with Lord and Lady Black’s appearance at our wedding."
"And remember, too, that Lord Abraxas was murdered by his own father, and Lord Lucius must have that weighing on his mind all the time. I’m not saying that we should trust those Malfoys, but they must have some idea of how isolated they are. And Draco really wasn’t that bad to us at Hogwarts, after all."
Merope glanced up. "Tom and Hermione... if you want to make an overture to these Malfoys, you have my permission to do so. I will acknowledge in the correspondence that you are doing so on my behalf."
Tom gazed curiously at his mother and Snape. "Mother, you hold the title, and he is your husband and consort."
"That is true, but Tom, I am a mother of two very premature twin babies, and there is no Muggle in the village of Hangleton whom I would hire as a nurse, missing their infancy myself, merely so that I could conduct a war, since there are others who can do that for me. Severus supports me in this. We have chosen to prioritize our young family. We recognize the fact that there must be a war to overthrow Armand Malfoy and Lestrange, but since you have been much more eager for it—it’s true, Tom, you have," she said, a grin forming on her face as his dark eyes widened—"and are also younger, and don’t have children yet, we have decided to let you and Hermione take charge of this."
"But—Hermione might...." He trailed off, glancing at Hermione.
Her face was sad. "Tom, I think at this point it’s safe to say that I inherited my family’s fertility challenges. I have taken the Draught of Fertility faithfully every night since we were married, to no avail. I’m sure we will eventually have a child—after all, my mother did, and so did my great-grandparents on my father’s side, without any magical potion. But perhaps it’s for the best that I am not with child yet. Let’s wait until the war is over."
Tom’s face was pained. "Hermione, I might not survive the war—"
She clapped her hand over his mouth. "Hush! Don’t you dare say that! We all will. We’re in the right."
Severus and Merope exchanged a sad glance that neither of the younger pair saw. Silence fell over the table.
Severus then spoke. "I have a new contact to report. The werewolf Remus Lupin, the one who lives in the woods behind Godric’s Hollow, wishes to ally with us." He glanced apologetically at Merope. "I received and answered his owl late last night. You were asleep."
"Of course. Eileen and Padrig hardly spare me a moment of sleep! You did right not to wake me for that." She gave him a wry smile. "Quite right."
"Well, apparently he intends to come to the castle today. I don’t know what he means to offer us other than his wand, but as you said yourself, every wand helps."
When the hour of Lupin’s expected visit arrived, Severus emerged into the great hall to receive him. To his displeasure, a very familiar pudgy little man was standing there, wringing his nine-fingered hands.
"What do you want?" Severus said icily, standing tall in his black robes.
"I heard that my old friend Remus Lupin is going to be here," Peter Pettigrew wheezed. "I just wanted to meet him."
Severus strode forward and grabbed Pettigrew’s collar. "Have you been eavesdropping on us as a rat?" he demanded.
Merope frowned at him. "Severus—"
He released Pettigrew and turned to her. "He was not here when we discussed that! How else could he know?"
"Word gets around inside a castle. The house-elves might have talked about it, in preparation for Lupin’s visit."
Severus noticed that Tom was also glaring blackly at Pettigrew. "Are you reading his thoughts? What do you see?" he asked the younger wizard.
"Sorry, Mother, but he was in his rat form," Tom said as Pettigrew cowered before them, looking down.
Severus pushed up his wide sleeves. "Well, then," he began, drawing his wand.
Tom was quicker on the draw. Before Severus could cast anything, Tom had sent an invisible spell at Pettigrew that made him jump and yelp in evident pain.
"Get out," Tom ordered him in a low hiss. "How dare you eavesdrop on the family you serve? Go to your own manor."
With a glare of sudden fury and icy loathing, Pettigrew scurried out of the great hall, slamming the heavy doors behind him.
Merope and Hermione exchanged glances of shared concern. "Tom," Merope began to say, "Tom and Severus—I do not mean to justify his behavior, but I don’t think that was the best way to deal with it."
"What do you suggest?" Severus asked roughly. "That we reward him for spying on us by granting his request? We know he has provided intelligence to Armand Malfoy before. He is not trustworthy. I think he should be locked in the dungeons for a spell, frankly, until he reconsiders his choices."
"I agree," Tom growled.
Merope sighed. "Well, I am in charge of this castle, and I will not do it. I do not lock up people who have committed no crime."
"He passed private information to Armand Malfoy. How is that not an act of treason?"
Merope turned and met Severus’s black eyes with a hard gaze in her own. "Remember what he reported, Severus. How is that not an act of treason? Of course, I forgave and pardoned it—which is my prerogative," she said pointedly. "I can do that for extenuating circumstances. My brother was a wicked man and a bad lord, for instance. Those are extenuating circumstances. And... Amycus Carrow was blackmailing Pettigrew, and what he told—and whom he told it to—was really quite harmless, all things considered. If I pardoned you for poisoning my brother, a family affair that concerned no one else, Armand Malfoy had no authority to pursue it himself. Pettigrew would have known that. Under threat of blackmail, he provided Malfoy with scandalous information that was useless for practical purposes. Of course he cannot be fully trusted... but the way that you and Tom treat him is unhelpful. I insist upon the two of you standing down and allowing me to address him in the future."
Severus and Tom both looked as though they wanted to object, but they did not.
The tense moment was mercifully interrupted by the appearance of the house-elves at the end of the great hall, in front of the tall double doors that Pettigrew had just gone out. They faced the family, and one of them spoke.
"Master Remus Lupin of Godric’s Forest is here," announced the male elf.
"Thank you," Merope said, settling herself upon the high seat, adjusting the two babies in her lap. The other three members of the family took their seats next to Merope. "Show him in."
Tom and Hermione observed the two babies, thinking. Although it was not protocol for Muggle noblewomen to receive guests with young children in their arms, the custom was different for witches, because there was no stigma in it—at least in the British Isles. A witch who had borne a magical infant was expected to be proud of it. She had added to the magical population—the magical noble population, in the case of noblewomen, the only class of witches for whom the magical custom was different to the Muggle one. It was actually considered shameful for a witch noblewoman of Britain to not keep a magical infant with her. The only kind of child that a noble witch was expected to conceal from magical outsiders was one who didn’t have magic; therefore it was considered an insult to a magical child—and to the magical population itself—for its parents to hide it. This was yet another tradition of magical Britain that the Normans wanted to change, Tom thought grouchily. They had adopted the Muggle noble practice of having servants—house-elves, in their case—attend to children most of the time, especially when the parents were receiving guests, and wanted to make this the social expectation for everyone else.
The elves pulled the doors open, admitting the werewolf. Even dressed in his best, Remus Lupin looked shabby. The full moon was about a week away, which accounted for some of it, but the Riddles and Snape suspected that he just looked unhealthy as a result of years of living with his condition. Nevertheless, he walked toward the family with as much confidence as he could muster.
"My lady of Hangleton," he said, bowing low. "My lords and ladies."
"Greetings, Master Lupin," Merope said formally. "I understand that you are a friend of our ally Sirius Black."
Lupin nodded. "I did not realize that he was a formal ally, my lady. Of course, he is still a Black, and your alliance with that great house is well known now."
"I offer my respects to your ladyship for the many recent happy events in your family," Lupin said, "and I am here today because I wish to offer you my wand as well."
Merope was unsurprised. "I will gladly accept your service, Master Lupin—but I wish to talk with you first. Be aware that my son is a master Legilimens, so you must tell the truth."
Lupin awaited her questions anxiously.

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